


The Pull of the Ocean

by RandomW07



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Bad Parenting, Dennor Week, First Meetings, Hinted abusive family, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, This is actually pretty happy, brief mention of drowning, mentioned Homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-13
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-27 13:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19792165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomW07/pseuds/RandomW07
Summary: Written for Dennor Week 2019: Day 6 - MermaidOne evening, Sigurd chose to go in search of the hauntingly beautiful voice only he seemed to hear.





	The Pull of the Ocean

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a bit out of practice, but I wanted to write something for Dennor Week, so here you have it! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Quick note: Sirens in this story are based on those in Greek Mythology that are a mix of human and bird. The sirens with fish tail are called mermaids.

Sigurd had always feared the ocean. For as long as he could remember, the elders had fed him tale upon tale of the danger it brought, of sailors lured to their deaths by the haunting spell cast by the singing of mermaids, of hunters pulled out of the sky into the murky depths by creatures of the deep and left to drown. They told him how if he were to listen to the ocean's call, his wings would drag him under, too heavy for him to resist. For as long as he could remember, he'd avoided the sea.

Now, however, he had no wings to hold him under. He had no family to warn him of the dangers hidden beneath the waves. Now, the ocean beckoned him. It called to him night after night in the form of a beautiful melody that drifted through his open window and into his bedroom. He didn't need to know who sang, the emotions in the song raw with pain, painting a story of longing and loss, a lament that only Sigurd seemed to hear. He pitied the owner of the voice, perhaps because that acute sense of loss was something he related to. An increasing urge to find whoever was singing, to finally meet someone who would understand, churned in his stomach.

He waited until sunset, before the tide came in, only a few minutes before the singing began, and snuck out of the house he shared with strangers, desperate not to run into any of them. They would ask too many questions, maybe want to accompany him, dissuade him from going. The fabric brushing against the stumps that used to be wings irritated them, creating a sharp sting that never went away, a reminder that he was no longer worthy of flight.

The sand warmed the soles of his feet, growing increasingly colder as he neared the water's edge. A few people were out on their evening stroll; a couple in love with their hands intertwined, a man throwing a stick for his dog to fetch, a small family with a child who was splashing in the shallows. Most of them looked to be on holiday, making the most of a relaxing break from their undoubtedly stressful human lives. Sigurd wasn't sure whether to scorn them or admire them.

Either way, waiting by the beach didn't interest him. Instead, he headed towards the rock pools, devoid of people at this time of day. A faded signpost warned people to be cautious when climbing them, not to go any further after a certain hour. Sigurd ignored it. The stone was slippery under his feet, slimy, covered in seaweed. Still, he forced himself to go all the way out, to the last rock before the ocean took over, and sat himself down on it, letting his toes dip in the cold water.

His plan was shaky at best. The beach went on for miles, the ocean even more so. Sound travelled. Who was to say the owner of the voice sang at this part of the beach, by these rocks? Besides, would they want to meet him? What if they were shy? He couldn't think of a better idea, however, so he stuck with it.

With nothing left to do but wait, he focused on the tide. He should have a good hour before it started to come in, but what if it came in sooner than planned? What if the singer made an appearance after it came in? What if he didn't notice and was swallowed by it? His heart raced, the fear he'd felt all his life surfacing, not enough to make him change his mind, but enough to make him nervous.

He needn't have worried. Not even five minutes later, the haunting tune filled the air. He couldn't tell where it was coming from, but that didn't matter. He closed his eyes, let the emotions wash over him, and added his own voice to the melody.

Sirens like himself were not known to sing, yet they did so almost daily. Their song was neither beautiful nor breathtaking, but fierce, harsh. It served to frighten away predators, to intimidate rivals, the type of chant that sent shivers down your spine. By all means, it should have clashed horribly with the melodic tune he heard, and yet, strangely enough, it blended in seamlessly.

The song faltered for a second, then picked up again, this time with a flurry of new emotions. Curiosity. Interest. Questions bubbled in the back of his mind, but they weren't not his own. Who was he? What was he? Where was he? Why was he sad? Stay here. Wait here. They needed to meet each other. They needed to talk.

So Sigurd waited a little longer, continued to sing, until a splooshing sound reached his ears and he opened his eyes, put an end to the music. A few feet away from where he sat, a head bobbed at the surface of the water, a face that could be mistaken for a human's if not for the fins where his ears should be and the unnatural glow of his eyes in the fading light.

A merman.

Oddly enough, Sigurd did not fear him. He should, he'd heard enough stories about them to know what they were capable of, but perhaps it was because of the singing, perhaps he'd fallen victim to the creature's spell, but he couldn't view the merman as a threat.

The creature approached him slowly, keeping his curious gaze on the siren. The closer he got, the more details Sigurd noticed. How instead of skin, his muscles and bones were covered by almost imperceptible scales that became darker and larger as they neared his tail, the pale white turning a vivid red in shade. How his hands were webbed as one reached out to grip the rock he sat on. How his eyes were rounder than a siren's but sharper than a human's, painted the same colour as the sky on a cloudless summer day.

For a while, neither man moved. They simply stared at each other silently, taking in the other's appearance, unsure as to what to say. Although he was the one to seek out the merman, Sigurd's tongue was tied, uncertain as to how to proceed. The sun vanished beneath the horizon, a subtle reminder that they didn't have much time together.

"So, things are pretty rough for you too, huh?" the merman chuckled.

His voice lacked the purity it possessed in song, now loud, almost grating to the ear. There was a bitterness in the merman's laugh, high and mocking. The bitterness wasn't directed at Sigurd, however, judging from the reassuring smile sent his way.

"I suppose you can say that," Sigurd mused, brushing a strand of hair from his face.

"The name's Mathias, by the way. What's yours?"

"Sigurd. I heard you singing."

Mathias nodded, bobbing up and down in the water as though somewhat embarrassed. He passed a hand through his hair.

"Sorry you had to hear that. I hate singing under water, I though no one would hear me up here. Guess I was wrong."

"I wasn't complaining. You have a nice voice."

Sigurd regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. A nice voice? Of course he would have a nice voice, he was a merman! The were known for their enchanting vocal skills. He hoped he wasn't blushing, or that if he was, Mathias wouldn't notice. Fortunately, the merman didn't look bemused. A wide grin spread across his face, hinting at his sharp fangs, and he did a rapid loop-the-loop, splashing water everywhere.

"Thanks! My brother thinks I'm tone deaf, but he only heard me once. Besides, he's got barnacles up his ears. You sound pretty awesome too, for a human."

Shivering from the added chill of water droplets all over his body, Sigurd tried not to bristle at the unintended insult. Human. Did he look like a human? He'd been trying to fit in among them ever since he lost his wings, clipping his talons down so they resembled nails, standing straighter, fidgeting less, but he'd always been branded as weird by the humans he lived with. He'd always assumed that meant he wasn't doing a good enough job at it.

"I'm a siren, not a human," he said, sharper than intended.

Mathias pulled a face, staring in confusion at his back.

"Where're your wings then?"

"Gone."

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, the heaviness that had weighed his heart down for the past few weeks suddenly crushed his spirits again. He sought Mathias out to express his feelings, to talk about what happened to someone who would understand. Was that selfish of him?

He opened his mouth, closed it again, swallowed, then made his decision. He sang. A single note, nowhere near as beautiful as any Mathias could produce, he filled with each and every emotion he felt now, every emotion he had felt leading up to the events that led to his downfall. Love for the siren with feathers the colour of the smoke, confusion as to why he felt such a thing towards someone he shouldn't, shame after confessing his forbidden feelings to his little brother, pure terror when he was found out, horror as they held him trial for his sins, the indescribable agony as they punished him, the phantom pains that ran up and down his spine with almost every movement, loneliness from being trapped here surrounded by aliens, apathy towards the beauty of the world, hope upon hearing a song sung by the sea. All in one long note he held until his breath runs out.

He looked down at his feet, didn't dare to look at Mathias, suddenly afraid, terrified of the hate that must smoulder in those bright blue eyes of his. And yet, despite the shame that burned his skin, relief washed over him, a sudden lightness filling his being now it was off his chest.

"People really do that?" Disgust dripped from every word Mathias spoke. "I always thought these kind of rumours were just old wives' tales meant to scare us."

The webbed hand reached for his, cautiously rubbing against the smooth skin, before squeezing it tightly. Sigurd dared to glance up, straight into the sorrowful gaze of the merman.

They didn't need words to express their feelings on the matter. The hand on his was more than enough. Cold and wet, Sigurd should be repulsed by it, instead he relished the human contact, the empathy that touch brought. It said "I'm not disgusted by you", something Sigurd thought impossible.

"I told you why I'm sad, your turn," he said, "if you want to, that is."

Mathias tensed, but nodded. His hand retreated back underwater, and he looked up at the sky, gathering his thoughts, before taking a deep breath, and sang. Unlike Sigurd's mournful note, a melody of anger and resentment spilt from his lips. The burning desire to please his father, crushing disappointment as his younger brother was always praised instead, resentment towards that brother for being so perfect all the time, jealousy towards the other members of his pod who didn't need to try hard for his father to notice them, anger at himself for failing to fit in, fury that no matter what reasonable solution he proposed to solve their problems, it was always met with apathy. The intensity of his rage made Sigurd cower, goosebumps erupting across his skin.

"I just want him to be proud of me, you know? I'm not stupid. I mean, I can be impulsive and reckless, but I'm not an idiot," the merman sighed.

Silence settled yet again between the two, a comfortable blanket to cover them as they thought. Mathias was the one to break it.

"Guess we both have shitty parents, huh?"

"You could say that," Sigurd hummed.

The tide would soon cut their time together short, but they made up for it by chatting non-stop until it did. They compared sirens to merpeople to humans, discussed each other's customs, habits, laws and taboos. They chatted about their hobbies, their talents, told each other of the mischief they'd got into and the heroic deeds they'd performed. They mocked the humans and their eccentricities - or, Sigurd mocked the humans, Mathias appeared fascinated by them.

"Tide's starting to come in," Mathias sighed. His eyes shone with hope. "Come back tomorrow?"

Sigurd nodded.

"It was nice meeting you."

"Definitely! It's been ages since I last made a friend."

Mathias' smile was dazzling. It sparked butterflies in Sigurd's stomach and forces a shy smile to cross his face. Leaving didn't seem right, but he turned away, hearing the sploosh of Mathias diving back underwater, and headed back to the house he lived in.

He dreamt of the ocean that night, of the comfort it brought in the shape of a man always described to him as a monster, and he woke up feeling happier than he had felt in years.


End file.
